


The Day After Tomorrow

by msraven



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Time, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msraven/pseuds/msraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil supposes that it's some strange cosmic karma that led to his being hit by stray sex pollen on the one morning he spends in R&D during the one week he's at HQ and not on the Bus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day After Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: As with the nature of all sex pollen fics, portions of this can be seen as dub-con. Please heed the warning.

Phil still doesn't understand why the common denominator for all of R&D's experimental chemical agents seems to be sex pollen. Not that they ever call it that. It's always a control inhibitor or pheromone intensifier or hormone enhancer. The result is the same: several weeks of agents awkwardly trying to work with people they now know intimately and everyone getting tested on the off chance that something got past the regular medical screens. 

Considering the amount of time Phil used to spend at HQ and the insane frequency that these sex pollen incidents occur, he has somehow always managed to avoid being party to any involuntary sexual encounters. Phil prefered to spend a lot of time cloistered in his office and, being the senior agent just below Hill and Fury, he always got the emergency chemical alert with plenty of time to secure his office door. The closest he'd come had been the one memorable occasion when Barton had taken refuge in the air vents, somehow ending up near Phil's office. Phil had been treated to the sounds of Clint masturbating for hours, filing away every gasp and moan for future fantasizing. Phil never said a word.

Phil supposes that it's some strange cosmic karma that led to his being hit by stray sex pollen on the one morning he spends in R&D during the one week he's at HQ and not on the Bus. To make matters worse – or better depending on your viewpoint – Clint is waiting in Phil's office when he runs inside to shut himself away from the rest of HQ. Not even Phil's legendary self control can survive being doused with sex pollen and having the subject of all of his wet dreams within reach. Phil pounces.

When Phil wakes the next morning alone, naked and wrapped in a blanket on his couch, he is left with only the vaguest memories of the day before. He has a mild headache and is sore in a way that signals he took part in some really great sex. A look around finds a small note taped to his monitor.

_Assembled. Back soon. --C_

A memory surfaces. Clint, eyes filled with awe and something deeper, trailing his fingers reverently down from Phil's shoulders, over the scar on his chest and lower, gripping his hips tightly as Clint pushes his cock deep into Phil, both of their bodies eagerly welcoming their joining.

Phil shakes his head clear it of the memory, berating himself for dwelling on a mistake, something that was unwanted and would never be repeated. This type of thinking, he assumes, is what leads to all the awkwardness on the days following an incident.

He dresses and walks with his head held high to the break room, hoping to soothe his headache with coffee. Inside the room is a rumpled Sitwell. He takes looks at Phil's usual, impeccable appearance and knocks his forehead once on the table before looking back up. 

"I don't know how you do it. You were standing right next to me. How do you manage to avoid the awkward sex incidents?" Something must twitch on Phil's face – he's been off since Tahiti – and Sitwell's jaw drops. "Holy shit! You did it. Someone finally got to you. Who?"

"Barton," Phil answers. There's no point in trying to hide it. 

Sitwell's face falls from unholy glee to concern. "Did you say Barton?"

"Yes, thankfully. If there is anyone I can trust not to make more of the situation than sex to burn off the chemicals, it's Barton. After all–"

"Wait," Sitwell cuts in. "You had sex with Clint Barton and you're saying it doesn't mean anything?"

"Of course it didn't mean anything. I got lucky he was still available. His popularity during these things is understandable. From what little I do remember, his reputation for being highly experienced has pretty solid footing."

Sitwell cringes at the same time as the back of Phil's neck prickles. There's a small, nearly imperceptible noise from behind him, but by the time Phil turns, there is nobody there. 

"I suppose a bit of awkwardness is to be expected," Phil sighs. 

"Phil," Sitwell starts to say, "Barton..."

"Is a professional," Phil finishes. "We were both under the influence and I am certain the awkwardness will fade with the memories."

Sitwell looks like he wants to say more, but then Phil's phone rings and he leaves the room with a distracted wave at his friend. Phil is on the Bus and in the air within thirty minutes, trying valiantly not to remember any more about his encounter with Barton. He fails spectacularly. 

The memories come in snippets and sensations. The taste of Clint's skin on his tongue, musky and addictive, making him yearn for more. The wet heat of Clint's mouth around his cock, the rough slide of the archer's calluses against the sensitive skin of Phil's thighs, and the feel of solid muscle gripped in his fingertips as he rode wave after wave of his climax. 

But what is slowly driving Phil insane are what he remembers in his dreams – whispered endearments and promises and eyes full of emotion that Phil tells himself is his own subconscious overlaying what he wants despite the truth. There is no way that Clint Barton, notorious flirt and the subject of nearly every SHIELD agent's fantasies, would fall in love with Phil. 

A few months pass and Phil is just starting to believe that he's pushing past the re-ignition of his attraction to Clint, when he gets a terse call from Fury telling him to get his ass back to HQ -- alone and as fast as possible. He arrives at Fury's office a few hours later to find a coldly furious Nick, an anxious looking scientist from R&D, and a very concerned looking Sitwell.

"I want a review of every single one of your containment procedures. I am through with your complete disregard for the emotional and physical well being of other agents in this building. I will hold you directly responsible for any future incidents. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-y-yes, sir," the scientist stammers after Fury's tirade. "You have my word that it won't happen again."

"What happened?" Phil breaks in. 

"Barton," Sitwell answers. "He got hit with the same stuff from a few months ago and his reaction was a little extreme."

Phil pales, thoughts of seizures, heart attacks, and aneurysms jumping to the forefront of his mind. 

"Is... is he okay?" Phil chokes out. 

"Mostly," Fury responds with another glare at the scientist. "Here, see for yourself."

Fury turns his computer so that Phil can see the video feed from earlier that day. It shows Clint having a heated discussion with someone in one corner of the lab. He shakes his head and makes a slashing motion with his hand, stopping whatever argument the scientist in front of him is voicing.

_That's not good enough,_ Phil sees Clint say.

"Hawkeye was upset because the last tranq arrow they gave him for the Hulk left Bruce a mess for days," Sitwell explains, having taken over as the Avengers' SHIELD liaison.

Phil watches as all the heads in the lab suddenly turn toward the center of the room. A lab tech is standing in a pool of quickly vaporizing liquid, glass shattered at her feet while another tech rushes to trip the alarm. Clint's face morphs from mild confusion to outright horror before he charges through the glass wall of the lab. Glass explodes everywhere and Clint bends to snag one of the larger pieces, brandishing it in front of him to keep the others at bay. He has cuts littered across his face and along his exposed arms, blood seeping out from between his fingers where he's gripping the shard of glass tightly in his fist.

_Everyone stay the fuck away! Nobody come near me!_ Clint shouts and then he's down the hall and out of the view of the camera.

"Where is he?" Phil asks before he fully thinks through the question. There has to be a reason they recalled him back to HQ.

"We don't know," Fury answers.

"We know he hasn't left HQ," Sitwell adds. "You know better than anyone where he would hide. We're worried about how much blood he's losing."

"Are there new side-effects since the last time the chemical was released?"

"No," the scientist answers. "We would have taken more precautions, but we determined after the first incident that everyone built an immunity after the first exposure. There was no one unexposed in the lab except for Agent Barton… I mean, Hawkeye."

"What?! Then why–"

"You are excused, Dr. Franklin," Fury orders before Phil can finish his question. The man's eyes scuttle around the room before he quickly exits the director's office.

"You may want to sit down for this," Fury suggests and Phil sits in front of his friend's desk.

"Phil," Sitwell says gently, "Clint wasn't exposed the first time around. He was in your office because Fury had just told him you were alive."

"But he's Level Seven," Phil argues as he turns wide, accusing eyes at Fury.

"Barton still technically has Level Seven clearance, but he wasn't privy to information about your recovery because he's no longer a SHIELD agent," Fury replies calmly. "He hasn't been since New York. It was the only way to keep the WSC away from him."

"So that day in my office…"

"Is still between the two of you," Sitwell assures him. "Clint won't talk about it. He hasn't been doing great since your death, but he was getting by, making friends with the other Avengers. Now he's withdrawn even further into himself than before. The only person he actively talks to is the Hulk. I think he reacted the way he did because he doesn't want to accidentally sleep with anyone but you," Sitwell pauses to glance at the director before continuing. "I know you've always prided yourself in not getting involved with your subordinates, but you can't tell me Clint isn't different. Special to you in a way that no one else is. And Clint… you have to know that most of his reputation is complete bullshit."

It all comes back then, Clint pressed against his back on the too small couch, a hand over Phil's mended heart and whispering words of love against the back of Phil's neck. Phil remembers responding in kind, the chemical stripping him of all his inhibitions until there was nothing left but relief at getting a second chance. A second chance he may have squandered with careless words and useless pride.

"I need a field med kit," Phil says and stands. 

Fury hands Phil the one that had been sitting behind his desk. "You know where he is?"

"He's in my office."

"None of your locks have been disengaged," Sitwell points out.

"And you honestly expected that to stop him?"

Phil leaves the room without waiting for an answer and heads straight to his office. The hallway is deserted and Phil has to assume that the director will continue to keep everyone at bay. He pauses with his forehead against the door and his hand on the knob.

"Clint, it's me. It's Phil. I know you're confused and hurting, but please don't panic and please don't leave. I'm here. It'll be okay. I'm going to open the door and then lock it behind me. Nobody is getting into this room but us. I promise."

He waits another beat and then turns the knob, slipping inside and re-engaging the locks as promised.

"I'm going to turn on the lights," he warns and flips the switch.

The first thing Phil sees is the bloody shard of glass laying in the middle of the floor. His eyes follow the trail of blood to the shadowy corner of his office, behind his desk and next to the large bookcase, until they finally rest on Clint. Phil takes a step forward, heart clenching when Clint cringes and tries to retreat further into the corner.

"You don't want me," Clint says in a small voice, shaky with unchecked emotion.

"I do," Phil reassures him. "I swear I do. The chemicals – I didn't remember before. I thought…" Phil shakes his head. "That doesn't matter now. I'm here because I want to be here, because I want _you_. Please, Clint. Let me take care of you like you took care of me."

There's a moment of charged silence before Clint lifts his head from behind his arms and then uncrosses them to reach toward Phil. "Phil…" he cries plaintively.

Phil rushes forward and gathers Clint into his arms, uncaring of the blood seeping into his suit. He pulls Clint from the corner and onto the couch, tenderly seeing to all of his cuts until Clint is shaking with need. 

"What do you want, Clint?" Phil aks, opening to Clint's fevered kisses without hesitation. "Anything you want."

"You. Just you. Phil, _please_."

Phil strips Clint of his clothing and lays him out along the couch, reaching once more into the field kit. Phil kisses along every patch of exposed skin as he opens Clint up achingly slow, until he can press inside, relishing every uninhibited movement and sound he elicits as Clint flies apart beneath him. It's not long before his own control slips and Phil collapses, sated and happy against the man he loves.

When Clint wakes the next morning, groggy and sore, Phil is there to cradle him close and reassure him that, despite the chemicals and the fear, there has never been anything but love between them. They talk for hours once they've dressed and retreated to the privacy of Clint's apartment, making love in the pre-dawn hours with only their blood thrumming hotly through their veins. 

Phil never learns what becomes of the chemicals R&D had been developing, but there are no more incidents after that fateful day. He is torn between righteous anger and unending gratitude, eventually settling for neither. All that matters is where they are today and the day after tomorrow.

_fin_


End file.
